


You Can Run but You Can't

by westernredcedar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adultery, F/M, M/M, Tri-Wizard, post-DH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-28
Updated: 2008-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:39:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westernredcedar/pseuds/westernredcedar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie's life veers off course, but Bill and Viktor are there to set him, um, straight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Run but You Can't

**Author's Note:**

> Written for daily_deviant, 2008.

The night his brother Percy sat down at the family dinner table and announced in his most formal voice that he was gay and moving in with his partner Neville after the holidays, Charlie Weasley decided he could never come out himself.

He’d been mulling over the best method of explaining his preferences for years, but a feeling that was so deep in his being was fucking difficult for him to put into words. After all, Charlie had a difficult time putting most things into words. He thought he might explain that he had needed to get away to Romania in order to understand and accept himself, and that he knew he had always been a disappointment, failing at school, failing at Quidditch, failing to provide the desired grandchildren, but that he had decided that this was the moment to be honest…and then Percy beat him to the punch.

Unfortunately that night, Charlie had been seated at the perfect angle from which to catch his mother's look of disgust, cold eyes and clenched jaw muscles as if she was swallowing bile, at Percy’s proclamation. It was a split second before Molly regained some control and settled her expressive features into mere disappointment, her fork falling to her plate with a clatter, but Charlie had seen her loathing, her judgment, her hate. His life veered dangerously off course at that moment.

He left for Romania the next morning determined to overcome the madness forever, to not disappoint them all once more.

He ended his year-long affair with the reservation botanist, Axel, thinking that would make him feel better, but instead discovering he wanted to cut out his own tongue as he heard the words, “Being with a man always felt fucked up to me, mate,” come out of his mouth. Charlie returned to his barracks after that and was sick in the basin.

He married the next woman he slept with, a quiet, steady witch named Claire who was assigned to the reservation as part of her veterinary rotations. Charlie brought her home the following summer to meet a stunned but ecstatic Molly, an introspective Arthur, and his quietly confused siblings. He avoided Bill’s questioning glances; Bill, the only one to ever know about Robbie, or Axel, or that complicated weekend with Remus. Charlie simply smiled and smiled and kissed Claire in front of everyone he cared about and then smiled some more in an attempt to convince himself that he had not just made a colossal mistake.

Claire loved him, or was so swept up in his whirlwind of attempted heterosexuality that she thought she loved him, and Charlie really didn’t care which one was the truth. He did like her. She was kind, and beautiful, and interested in dragons, and had enormous hands, and didn’t care that he preferred to fuck her from behind, with his eyes closed and his hands miles away from her tits.

He was making it work, he thought. It was easier this way. For everyone.

Charlie had been play-acting this life for well over a year when he received the invitation from his brother:

_Charlie,  
Where the fuck are you? The baby needs her Uncle Charlie around being bad influence. Get your arse to our cottage for a visit before I give up on you and am forced to become some sort of respectable family man.  
Your loving brother, Bill_

The chance to get away made Charlie realize how bloody exhausted he was.

“I think he needs some brotherly time with me, just the two of us. You know how it is,” Charlie said with a shrug. He broached the subject with Claire as they were undressing for bed. She was stripped down to a thin camisole and pants, radiating her subtle expectation that they would make love that night. Charlie’s body chilled.

“So you’d prefer it if I stayed at home?” Claire did not turn to face Charlie.

“This time. We can visit them together at Christmas,” Charlie suggested, his heart hammering in his chest.

Claire gave him a tentative smile. “I think it’s sweet that you are so close to your brother. I’m busy with the new hatchlings anyway. When are you going?”

Charlie was so grateful for the easy escape, he did not put up any resistance when she drew him down into their bed.

So it was that Charlie requested a holiday from the reservation, arranged a portkey to Shell Cottage for the next weekend, and arrived at Bill and Fleur’s house tired, dirty, and unbelievably relieved to be away from his disastrous life. He sprinted to Bill’s front door.

No one was in the sitting room when Charlie barged into the house, shouting, “That's right! Hide your sisters! The paragon of the Weasleys has arrived!”

His voice echoed through the quiet house, and he dropped his bag to the floor. Charlie breathed in the scent of his brother’s home, a mix of home cooking, nappies, hair products, and sea air.

Someone peered around the doorway from the kitchen, dark eyes shadowed under a heavy brow, a freshly opened beer in his hand. “It is a lucky day for me then, that I greet the paragon. You are Charlie, yes?” He had a thick, slurring accent, and a subtle smile.

Charlie felt a firm blush creep up his neck. “Oh, sorry! I thought…yes, I’m Charlie. Sorry.”

“They expect you. All are in the garden,” the man said, emerging from the kitchen in an awkward slouch. “Viktor, do you remember? I too am visiting. With Flower.”

Of course. Viktor Krum. He’d grown his hair, but Charlie should have recognized him right away, with his bronze skin and stern brow and broad shoulders and those meaty Quidditch thighs and…Fuck.

“You mean Fleur?” Charlie asked, swallowing. The man had shoulders a fucking mile wide.

Fuck.

“Flower. Also Harry. It is our, how you call…reunion?” Viktor said. “There is beer, if you would want.”

“I would want.” Charlie followed those shoulders into the kitchen and then into the garden, his eyes lingering on Viktor’s back, trying to ignore the horrific, impossible images that were flooding his brain as he hurried to greet his brother’s family and their guests.

***

“You’re still at the dragon reserve, then?”

Harry Potter, seated in a wooden lawn chair, still retained his boyish appearance, although he had either repaired his vision or started wearing contact lenses. Fleur had dashed inside to work on the supper. Charlie did not recall that the Tri-wizard Champions had been close, but time and age seemed to have brought them together.

“Yep. For almost ten years,” Charlie replied, sipping his beer. Viktor Krum was reclining on the grass across from him, legs stretched out, one solid arm crooked behind his head, and Charlie was having a hell of a time paying attention to Harry’s polite small talk.

“And you are married now?”

Charlie was sure that Viktor Krum’s eyes flickered up at that question.

It took all the strength in his body to admit, “Yeah. I am.”

“That’s cool. Hope to meet her someday. I’ll never forget your visit to Hogwarts during the Tri-wizard Tournament,” Harry said with a grin. “Remember that, Krum?”

Viktor’s dark eyes met Charlie’s and Charlie’s skin was suddenly too tight. “Of course. I remember Charlie.”

Charlie swallowed. “I didn’t meet you then, did I?”

“No. But I remember you.” Krum’s voice was like the knock of pebbles in a fast-moving stream.

Harry said something, possibly _Those dragons left quite an impression,_ but Charlie couldn’t quite hear him.

Thank Merlin, Bill, his sleeping daughter strapped to his chest, appeared out of the house to snap Charlie back to earth. “Get off your arse and start the grill with me, Igor,” Bill said, as he handed Charlie a platter of marinating chicken.

Charlie grinned at the old nickname and stood up. “Yes, Master,” he replied with a mock bow, relieved to be moving away from Viktor Krum’s fucking shoulders for a few minutes.

“I shall help Flower with the vegetables,” Viktor said, pulling himself up from the ground. Charlie watched him go. Viktor looked back over his shoulder and caught Charlie’s gaze. Fuck.

“I’ll go with you,” Harry called after Viktor, and the party went their two separate ways for the moment.

Bill grinned at Charlie as they walked towards the grill at the far end of the garden. He gave Charlie a quick one-armed squeeze around the shoulders, avoiding squishing Victoire in her sling.

“I’d wipe the drool, little brother, before you slip in it,” Bill whispered.

“Huh?”

Bill ran a mocking thumb along Charlie’s chin. “You’re embarrassing yourself,” he said, and walked on ahead.

Charlie trotted to catch up. “What are you on about?” he asked, although he knew exactly why Bill was harassing him. Viktor _might_ have actually made him drool. Damn Bill, noticing every bloody thing.

Bill stopped suddenly and turned to Charlie. “Why did you get married, little brother?”

Charlie felt his mouth freeze in an awkward O as he waited for a reasonable answer to form in his brain, and then the moment for a reasonable answer came and went, and then Bill smiled that maddening, knowing smile. His big brother smile.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, as he turned to open the grill and light the coals with his wand.

Charlie put the chicken platter down on the edge of the grill and ran his hands through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me you were having other guests?”

“Fleur’s been planning this reunion for ages. I was hoping you’d be my excuse for some time away from the fabulous Champions. I didn’t anticipate any of the guests would be a problem for you,” Bill said, flopping chicken onto the sizzling grill.

“They’re not.”

“Of course they’re not…” Bill said, drizzling the last of the marinade over the chicken.

“I love my wife, Bill,” Charlie said, ashamed at the defensive tone in his voice.

Bill grunted. “Okay, okay…” He kept his eyes on the chicken.

“You don’t believe me.”

Bill looked up. “Your Claire? I’m just wondering…what colour are her eyes, Charlie?” 

“Um…her eyes?” Charlie knew Bill’s theories were confirmed the moment he had to pause. “Green, they are…greenish,” he stuttered.

“You sure about that? How about Krum’s eyes, my dear brother? What colour are they?”

_Brown, almost black, with thick eyelashes that go on forever,_ Charlie thought, but he said nothing. Bill’s demonic blue eyes pried into his heart and knocked loose the guilt he had hidden away there. Fuck him. The silence stretched on far too long.

“Bollocking hell. You didn’t see her face, Bill, when Percy…when Percy said…” Charlie sputtered.

“Whose face?”

“Mum.”

“Oh.” Bill’s shoulders dropped and he sighed. “Oh. Shit.”

“She wanted to die, when Percy told us about Neville. I saw it.” Charlie couldn’t look at Bill. “Besides, I like women, too. It’s fine.”

Bill looked up, and Victoire’s baby soft hair fluttered in the evening breeze. She slept on. “I’d hope so, Charlie, or else you’ve dragged an innocent woman into a struggle between you and mum and your conscience, and that would be a bloody crap thing to do.”

Bill walked off towards the kitchen, and Charlie was left in the darkening garden.

***

_He had to tell her._ Charlie lay on the sofa, wide awake, staring at the ceiling of the sitting room, as the clock struck three. _He had to tell her._

Dinner had been a torture of comradely eating and drinking. Harry, apparently oblivious to the various tensions that were straining between Charlie and Viktor, Charlie and Bill, Charlie and Charlie, chattered on about Auror training and wedding plans, providing a veneer of normality over the proceedings. Fleur appeared to know something was in the air, as Charlie intercepted several suspicious glances flying between her and Bill, but she also soldiered on through small talk, and toasts to Cedric Diggory, and two bottles of wine. Victoire was passed around to her various uncles, real and honorary, and she provided ample distraction as well.

Charlie found himself alone with Viktor only once, when he offered to grab another piece of chicken from the grill for Fleur, and Viktor was already outside.

They stood over the warm grill in heavy silence for a moment.

"You are interested in Quidditch?" Viktor asked at last.

"Yeah. I used to play. Good season. That catch you made in the Euro Cup was brilliant," Charlie said, heart racing.

"It was. Yes." Viktor said.

Charlie looked up at the stars, just appearing over their heads.

“You study the astronomy?” Viktor asked, following his gaze.

“Not really. It's just that I'm often outdoors at night,” Charlie said, his voice sounding constricted and nasal inside his head.

“With your wife?”

The question sparked in the air between them, like the stars.

Charlie looked at the ground. “Sometimes. Usually alone,” he said.

“Oh. You do not share every night with your wife?” Viktor’s voice was also pinched, Charlie thought.

“There are a number of things we do not share.” Fuck, what was he saying?

“Ah. Yes?”

“I’d better bring this chicken in for Fleur.” The Weasley blush was making its way up his neck again.

Viktor’s rested his hand on Charlie’s shoulder for a moment as he murmured, “Yes.”

Now, hours later, in the dark, that spot on Charlie’s shoulder still burned hot. He tried not to imagine Claire, innocent Claire, asleep in their bed, no burning touches on her skin to keep her awake all night.

_He had to tell her._ That thought played over and over in his mind like a chant. He’d lost track of whether the _her_ he was more scared to tell was his wife or his mother. He sighed.

“Charlie?” The voice was whispered, but the pebbly growl was unmistakable. “You are awake?”

His broad silhouette was framed by the doorway to the stairs.

“Viktor?” Fuck. “Yeah. I’m awake.” Charlie rotated his hips slightly to hide the half-hard bulge that had refused to disappear, even after he’d finally given in to a guilt-ridden wank as he attempted to get to sleep.

“Why are you awake?” Viktor stepped into the room.

Charlie stared up at the ceiling again, at the distinctive knots in the wood that he had been studying for the past four hours. _He could tell Viktor. For practice. Why not? He’d never see the man again._ His shoulder burned.

“Because,” Charlie whispered after a deep breath, “I’m queer, and I’ve really cocked things up, and I have to tell my family the truth, and I don’t know how.” He turned his head to look Viktor full in the face.

“Oh,” was Viktor’s reply. Charlie could not make out his expression in the dim light.

“How about you? Why are you awake?”

Viktor’s face was very still, and he did not look away. “I came to find you.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

The air was sucked out of Charlie’s lungs, and all he could say was, “Oh,” before Viktor was there, straddling him on the old sofa, his mum’s old sofa that used to occupy the sitting room of the Burrow, and their lips were inches apart for a long breath, long enough for Charlie to think _I’m married_ , and then they weren’t apart anymore, and the burning on Charlie’s shoulder spread over his skin and to the roots of his hair and the soles of his feet as Viktor Krum kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him.

His body was consumed by heat, and Charlie hoped it wasn’t just the utter wrongness that was fueling this added intensity.

“I can’t believe you remember me from Hogwarts,” Charlie panted when Viktor’s thick lips moved lower to claim his throat, and he could take a breath.

“I remember you,” Viktor muttered against his skin, and Charlie arched up against Viktor’s heavy weight on him, relishing the hard bulges, the _man_ pressed into him. His hands grappled down Viktor's loose t-shirt to the elastic of his pajama bottoms. He felt so abruptly freed from his year of self-denial that his body wanted to explode into Viktor, to touch every part of his meaty, hard body at once. He needed Viktor's naked skin on him, and he needed it five minutes ago. He yanked Viktor's pajama's off of his hips and then sat up to pull off his own shirt, shoving Viktor back on his knees.

"I think this is what you want? It is okay?" Viktor asked, dark eyes peering at Charlie in concern and lust, giving Charlie one last chance to get out of this insanity.

"Fuck, yes," Charlie whispered, grabbing Viktor by the back of the head and pulling into a hard kiss. "This is what I want." It was the truest thing Charlie had said for over a year. 

His hand crept down to fist Viktor's dick, hard and hot in his palm. Viktor muttered something Charlie did not understand as he reclined backwards, his eyes fixed on Charlie's hand, his tongue peeking out from between his swollen lips. 

Taking advantage of Viktor's vulnerable position, Charlie shoved him further backwards and extricated his legs from under Viktor's body, losing his own pajama bottoms as he struggled. Now on his back, Viktor's body was exposed and open, huge and solid like a boulder, and Charlie could do nothing but lunge. He nuzzled his face against Viktor's balls, into the humid and matted crease where his legs met, against his straining dick. Viktor let out a sound that might have been a word or a moan and Charlie spared a moment to consider what he would do if Bill, or Fleur, or Harry fucking Potter walked in to see about the noise. Then Viktor thrust up against his face, and such thoughts were forgotten as Charlie grabbed Viktor's dick, worked his tongue in circles around its swollen head, and then dove down on him, hard, deep enough to gag.

Charlie was too greedy, and his rediscovered taste for cock driving him to push Viktor over the edge fast and hard. He pounded his mouth onto Viktor's dick, and Viktor yanked at Charlie's hair and pulled him off a moment before he came all over Charlie's chest and neck and chin. 

Viktor did not waste a moment recovering before he had flipped Charlie off the edge of the sofa onto his back, and had Charlie's cock in his mouth. Charlie was so turned on, Viktor had only to tug his balls and give his cock a few firm sucks and Charlie was coming down his throat. 

As his dick pulsed and emptied into Viktor, Charlie thought, _Fuck, I'm really very gay_ , and the thought struck him as such a relief that he let out a loud bark of laughter.

"Shh," Viktor said, turning his eyes to the stairway, wiping his mouth. "They will wake."

Unable to stop smiling, Charlie pulled Viktor down into a soft kiss. "Who the fuck cares? Let them all wake up."

However, no one did wake up to bother them, even when they continued to produce laughs and moans long into the night.

***

Thin dawn light was just coloring the sky, and Viktor was snoring on the sofa under an old hand-knit blanket that Molly had made for Bill as a child. Charlie looked up at him every few minutes, just to be sure that the night had not been a dream or delusion. The snores were real enough, though, and the dry crust of come on his chest was itching in a very real way.

Besides, Charlie had already sent the owl off with a message to Claire, telling her to expect him home that afternoon, and warning her that they needed to have a serious talk.

The note he was composing now was proving more difficult. 

_Mum,  
I've made some mistakes with my life. I'd like to come by tomorrow and speak with you and Dad about them, so I can start to make things right.   
I love you,  
Charlie_

He let the owl loose to fly towards the Burrow, and then curled up at the other end of the sofa, legs tangled with Viktor's, before he drifted to sleep.


End file.
